


No Clintonian Mishaps

by redisthenewblackington



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lizzington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redisthenewblackington/pseuds/redisthenewblackington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After almost losing Lizzie twice in one day, Red's night terrors flare up again. He comes up with a questionable treatment plan that hinges entirely on Lizzie, but only if he can talk her into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Clintonian Mishaps

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own and profit from NOTHING. This little fic is largely inspired by and borrowed from the Boston Legal episode titled "Ass Fat Jungle". If you've seen it, you'll appreciate all the little scattered references. Red takes on a notable degree of Alan Shore's characteristics. If you haven't seen it, fear not. It won't ruin this story for you, and it also won't spoil anything about the show, should you intend to watch it one day.

Chapter One

"Most of all I want to sleep. I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy. Give me that. Just one time."

Red woke up on the carpet of his 14th floor hotel room, feeling completely disoriented in the pitch-black darkness. His whole body ached, but nowhere so much as his head. Blindly, he groped the space around him, still on the floor for the moment, taking a mental inventory of his injuries. No bullet wounds, lacerations, burns, or broken bones. Once he determined that the aches were probably just contusions, he slowly rose up to his feet, groaning from the sudden rush of blood through the dilated vessels of his neck and head. He gripped the nearest bedpost for support as he swayed.

What the hell happened? Red couldn't recall, and so he added 'possible concussion' to the list. He felt his way up the bed until he reached the nightstand and the lamp that sat upon it. His hands fumbled and slid up the base, beneath the lampshade, until he finally found the switch and flicked it on. He winced at the sudden brightness and turned his head away too quickly, his breath catching from the fresh jolt of pain that exploded across his forehead.

Then he noticed the bedsheet crumpled up on the floor, right next to the sliding glass door, and he knew that it was happening again.

Night terrors.

They first started as a boy, when his mother decorated his bedroom with clowns. In the middle of the night, he would run out of the house, across the street, and into the woods. Upon awakening, he stumbled home with bloody cuts on his feet, scared out of his mind. He was only a child.

He called it "sleep running," and his mom didn't even care about what it did to him. Eventually, little Raymond took matters into his own hands by setting fire to the room. It worked, and no one ever suspected a thing, but it wouldn't be his last act of arson.

Years later, the terrors started up again when he found the surviving porcelain clown that his mother had stored in the attic. Yet again, she couldn't be bothered to take on the motherly duty of protecting him from himself, so she let him get a dog. Mr. Meagles slept with him nightly, and whenever Ray lept from his bed screaming in the middle of the night, Meagles always went after him, barking and nipping until he woke up, always just in the nick of time. Mr. Meagles even consoled him by curling up beside him in bed, resting his head on Raymond's chest. He could only wonder how many times that dog saved his life. He'd had a number of close calls, but the worst thing he'd ever done was flash a few unsuspecting, early morning joggers.

After that, he had to endure the discomfort of wearing pajamas, at least until the terrors stopped. Bedtime is supposed to be naked time! There's nothing he'd rather do in a bed fully clothed than naked. Nothing.

The last time the night terrors flared up, they rapidly escalated and became much worse than ever before.

Her screams.

Her stuffed rabbit.

The smell of his own flesh boiling under the flames.

The next morning, those three things were all he could ever recall about the night terrors.

Even after the terrors finally stopped again, the nightmares never did.

It wasn't as if walking into his family's bloodied, empty home on Christmas Eve wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to him. It was. Those memories either kept him awake at night, or gave him nightmares, whenever he was unfortunate enough to actually fall asleep. Unlike the night terrors, he could vividly recall every agonizing detail of the nightmares.

And instead of details, the terrors left him with little more than paralyzing fear, tachycardia, and sweat-soaked bed linens.

So, here he was again, and the trigger was obvious.

It was right after he opened up to her. "None of it is worse than losing you." He said it out loud, and felt his heart begin to soar when her expression changed. She finally believed him, if only for that moment, and he could have sworn that a piece of her heart had leaked through her tearful eyes. She was already missing that piece, fueled by regret and the thought of him being jailed for life and completely lost to her.

When he dropped to his knees at her feet, the opening morphed into an offering, and the trigger of his night terrors came soon after.

It was from seeing Tom's warm gun pressed against Lizzie's temple, and the fear in her eyes that his own surely mimicked. It was the thought of her collapsing at his feet with a bullet in her head, lost to him forever.

Torturously soon after, the very same fear manifested itself again in a different form, while watching her walk away for good, tightly stiffening and seizing his heart. A silent conversation passed between them while Red choked back a sob and blindly painted the very picture of anguish upon his own face.

Once, there was a time that Lizzie would have derived pleasure from hurting him. She would have gleefully jumped at the opportunity. She actually had done it more than once before.

Not anymore. And knowing that she shared his pain only made it worse for him.

...-...-...-...

The next day, Red was an insufferable ass at the post office. Lizzie was quick to point it out, and her curiosity was piqued when he brushed her off with a non-committal response. Something was off. He was clearly keeping something from her (something new, that is).

The following night, another night terror invaded his bedroom. This time, Red sucked up his pride and told Dembe about it. He responded by inflating an air mattress at the foot of Red's bed, insisting that he sleep there in order to keep him safe. At first, Red was annoyed by the offer, but soon after, something dawned on him. He finally had someone in his life who actually gave a damn. He was touched.

The following week, Dembe's sister was diagnosed with non-hodgkins lymphoma, and Red was yet to go a single night without incident. That didn't stop him from insisting that Dembe go to her. He asked Red to come along so he could continue guarding him at night. Red refused. He had a backup safety plan that he was actually quite eager to implement.

...-...-...-...-...-

While several thousand feet in the air, in Red's jet, he made the first step in his plan. There was nowhere Lizzie could run. He didn't care that it was an underhanded way to ask for help. If it works, it's worth it. Red tilted his head and walked directly into Lizzie's personal space, seating himself beside her, their legs touching. He jumped into the situation without preamble.

"I have a condition. It's called 'Night Terrors'. During the deepest levels of non-REM sleep, I hear voices, terrifying screams. Sometimes I even run. Since I'm sound asleep when I'm running, this puts me in significant physical danger."

"Uh huh? I'm already familiar with the parasomnia." she huffed.

"Well," he went on, "I need somebody to guard me at night."

Lizzie pursed her lips, impatient. "When you say guard?"

"Ah, well, it's quite simple, really. I need you to lie in the bed with me. If I get up to run outside, you just stop me."

He only waited seconds for her response. "How STUPID do you think I am?! Is there anything you won't do to try to sleep with me?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gazing at her with eager eyes. "So you'll think about it?"

She glared at him.

He reacted as if she had agreed to do it, smiling. "Excellent." Then he returned to his seat in order to let her stew without aggravating her further.

...-...-...-...-...-...-...

Alright, how's it going so far? Love it or leave it? Let me know. Thanks for reading. This isn't a one-shot, although that was my original plan. =P There's gonna be more, but I have no Idea how much yet.


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